The King's Storyteller
by dennyj
Summary: The power of words.


This was a response to a list challenge to incorporate a traditional Christmas story into a fic. The formatting doesn't want to accept my indentations in the middle section, so I've used ** to set it off.

The King's Storyteller

"What tale do you have for me tonight?" the king asked, taking a bite of the piece of meat he'd speared with his knife.

"One about those who sought the child to present him with gifts," the servant replied as he took his place on the cushion at the king's feet.

"Ah, yes, more about the god who became human. It is an intriguing story even though I do not believe a god would ever choose to live among those who worship him. However, your imagination is what makes you a good storyteller." The king smiled.

"As I explained, by becoming human, the god could—"

"Yes, yes, I remember. His people would know that he cared for them and would understand his messages to them." The king chuckled. "A god cares not if his people understand him; it is not their place to know his plans and motives, just as it is not your place to try and understand your king and his ways."

The king's voice was pleasant, but the servant understood the warning he was being given. "Forgive me, sire," he said bowing his head.

"Come, please your king with your storytelling." The voice was jovial, all trace of admonishment gone.

"Yes, sire." Taking a deep breath, the servant began his tale.

**There once was a man named Artaban. He was one of a group of very wise men who studied the heavens. While searching ancient writings, they discovered a prophecy that foretold of the appearance of a special star that would signal the birth of a King—one sent from their god.

Artaban knew he must meet this King. He sold all of his possessions and purchased three jewels which he intended to present to the king: a sapphire as blue as the night sky, a ruby as red as the first rays of the sun, and a pearl as white as snow on a mountaintop.

Finally, a bright star appeared on the horizon, glowing blue and red and white. Artaban knew this was the sign. He had agreed to meet his friends in a far city ten days after the star appeared, so he quickly saddled his horse and galloped off to meet them. For many days he rode through fields, across streams, and over mountain passes. As he came within a few hours of the city, his horse suddenly stopped. Lying on the road in front of them was a man. Artaban dismounted and went to the man, fearing he was dead, but when he touched him, the man moaned. He could see the man would not survive without help. However if he stopped now, he would miss his friends and they would continue the journey to meet the king without him. Artaban silently asked his god for the wisdom to make the right choice.

Artaban carried him to the shade of a tree where he gave him water and medicines which he carried with him for his journey. Soon the man began to recover.

"I have nothing to repay you for your kindness," he said, "but I can tell you that our prophets have learned where this king will be born.' And he did.

Artaban thanked him and rode on to meet his friends, but when he arrived, they had already gone. They had left him a message that told him to follow them across the desert. Artaban was sure he had lost his chance to meet the king because he had stopped to show kindness, but he sold his beautiful sapphire and bought a camel—an animal more suited to desert travel—and supplies for the trip, and continued on his journey.

After many weeks, Artaban arrived in the city where the King was to be born. As he entered the city, he came upon a small cottage and inside he saw a young woman rocking a baby. He knocked and she asked him to enter. He told her of his search and she said yes, three strangers had arrived and visited the baby king and his parents, but they left suddenly. The little king's parents took their baby and fled to another land to escape some unknown danger.

Artaban's heart sank. He had failed again. Just then a loud uproar came from the street. Artaban went to the door while the woman hid in the shadows with her baby. Someone outside shouted, "The soldiers have come for our children!" A tall soldier approached the cottage and Artaban stood glaring at him. Then he slowly reached into his tunic and withdrew the huge ruby. Immediately, the soldier's eyes gleamed with greed.

"I am alone here and waiting to give this ruby to the soldier who will leave me in peace."

The soldier quickly grabbed the jewel and turned to his men. "March on! There are no children here."

The soldiers left and the young mother thanked Artaban for saving the life of her child: "May our god look favorably on you for your kindness and keep you safe all of your days."

Artaban was afraid his god would be displeased because he had lied and because had given the soldier one of the jewels meant for the king. However, he was determined to go to the far land and continue searching.

He searched for many years but never found the King. Along the way he cared for the sick, fed the hungry, and clothed the needy. He continued to carry the pearl in hopes he would one day be able to present it to the King.

After thirty years, Artaban grew old and tired. He decided to make one more trip to look for the King. Arriving in a far city, he found the streets filled with crowds of people. When he asked what was happening, he was told that two thieves and a man claiming to be their king were about to be executed.

Somehow, Artaban knew this was the man he had been searching for. If he hurried, he might be able to offer the pearl as ransom and rescue the King. He rushed through the streets only to be stopped by soldiers dragging a young girl.

She cried out, "Have mercy! My father died owing these men a large sum of money. I am to be sold as a slave to pay the debt. Please, save me!"

Artaban had already missed the King twice because he had helped someone in trouble. He was so close to his goal—his search for the King would finally be over. But then he looked at the helpless girl and knew what he must do. He took the pearl and placed it in the girl's hand. "Here is your ransom. It is the last of my treasures that were to be given to the King."

At that moment the sky darkened and thunder rolled, shaking the buildings surrounding them. The soldiers fled, leaving Artaban alone with the girl. Suddenly, a large stone fell from one of the buildings and struck Artaban.

As he fell to the ground, he heard a voice speaking over the thunder. "Artaban, you have been a good and faithful servant. When I was hungry, you fed me, when I was naked, you clothed me, and when I was in prison, you visited me."

"When did I do these things for you, my god?"

'Whenever you helped one of my people in need, you helped me.'

Peace filled Artaban's soul as understanding dawned. His treasures had been accepted: he had found his King. **(1)

The servant finished his story and looked around the room. The king and his nobles were all sitting silently, staring at him intently. Finally, the king shifted in his chair. "Another interesting story you have given us." He picked up his mug and took a drink. "Artaban's god is quite benevolent."

"Yes, he is, sire."

The king waved his hand and the nobles rose and left the room, leaving the king and his servant alone.

"I am well aware of what you are attempting to do," the king said.

"I only wish to tell a story that is pleasing—"

"Do not try my patience." The king's voice was low and threatening. "In the weeks you have been here, you have made it clear that you wish me to release you. Let _me_ be clear—that will not happen. You belong to me and are alive only by my grace."

"Yes, sire." The servant lowered his head.

"Now," the king said, his voice becoming more genial, "tomorrow I wish for a story of adventure. Return to your room and prepare your tale so that you may continue to live."

"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire." The servant rose, and, escorted by the guard—his ever present shadow—he made his way down the hall to his room. Once inside, the door was locked behind him. He drifted to the narrow slit of a window and looked out at the moonlit courtyard below.

He wasn't worried about coming up with a story—he had an endless supply to draw on. No, he was worried that the king would eventually tire of his tales and sell him—or kill him. He was well aware that his storytelling skills were the only things keeping him alive.

Actually, the greatest worry gnawing at him was that the king would lose patience with his efforts to soften the man's calloused heart before his friends were able to find him.

He sent a silent message into the darkness. _I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm waiting._

Turning away from the window, Daniel made his way to his pallet and lay down, his mind drifting to tomorrow night's tale and the only weapon he had—his words.

End

I have paraphrased this from the story The Other Wise Man by Henry Van Dyke, as retold by Pamela Kennedy.

4


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